


Strange Bedfellows

by PhiraLovesLoki



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Enchanted Forest, F/M, Secret Identity, Sharing a Bed, Undercover Missions, basically an excuse for bed-sharing, how terrible, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 04:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9054757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiraLovesLoki/pseuds/PhiraLovesLoki
Summary: Killian has infiltrated the kingdom of Storybrooke with one goal: rescue the missing princess of Misthaven in order to collect his reward. When his attempts to find her are unsuccessful, he enlists the help of a mysterious stranger named Swan.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [optomisticgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/optomisticgirl/gifts).



> This is a gift for OptomisticGirl, one of my first and closest fandom friends. You wanted Enchanted Forest and bed-sharing up the wazoo, so enjoy!
> 
> Thank you to lifeinahole for helping me figure out the plot, and to swankkat and the CS Writers' Hub for beta-reading!

Killian emptied his tankard and set it back on the table a little harder than he’d intended. His frustrations were clearly getting the better of him tonight. But he’d paid nearly every last coin he’d had for that seer to give him the whereabouts of the missing princess, and now here he was, in the village the seer _swore_ the princess would be in, with said princess nowhere to be found.

Now he was stuck in Storybrooke with no money, no method to contact Queen Snow White, and no plan besides the one he’d been trying to avoid since he first arrived in Queen Regina’s territory.

He wished he’d never had to take on this job. Regina’s reputation as the Evil Queen was well-earned, and her treatment of pirates and spies was famously harsh. If anyone got wind of the fact that he was _both,_ he’d lose more than just his other hand. And walking straight into her castle seemed like _asking_ to be ruthlessly slaughtered.

“There you are, sweetheart!”

He ignored the excited, girlish exclamation, too busy mentally calculating whether or not he could afford another ale if he planned to spend any of his dwindling money on a bed for the night. After all, he was expecting no one; whoever this woman was, she wasn’t looking for him. But then someone dropped a rucksack beside him before dramatically sitting next to him, almost in his lap. “I hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

It was a woman, light-haired and light-eyed, breasts practically spilling out of her tight corset. Killian licked his lips at the sight of her. Clearly, she had the wrong man, which was too damn bad; she was absolutely _gorgeous._

But then she raised her eyebrow, just the slightest touch, and not in a playful, lusty way. She did so in a manner he was familiar with, having done the same thing himself numerous times when he needed a little help from a stranger to get out of trouble.

Sure enough, when he glanced behind the mysterious woman, he saw a few of Queen Regina’s black knights entering the tavern. They were off duty, given that the Queen would wring their necks herself if they were caught drinking on the job, but Killian had been pursued by enough off-duty knights to know that they wouldn’t give up quarry simply because it wasn’t their shift.

He wasn’t about to throw this damsel to the metaphorical wolves.

“Every moment of our separation was painful,” he replied, sounding every bit the lover prone to hyperbole. If he hadn’t been watching for her reaction, he might not have noticed that she relaxed ever so slightly, clearly relieved that he was playing along.

“Another drink?” she asked him, pulling out a coin purse. “Together this time?”

And, well, if she was paying, who was he to refuse? He grinned and flagged over a serving wench.

The knights finally dispersed, but only after he and the unknown lass had downed another pitcher of ale. He was feeling pleasantly drunk, likely because he’d imbibed most of the alcohol. She had been a little tense and on high alert, only sipping her ale when she thought someone might be watching. “Well, that was lovely,” he said, keeping his voice low, in case anyone nearby was a loyalist. “Best of luck in your endeavors, love.” He pulled out his own coin purse and began to count what he had left.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Attempting to see if I have enough coin to secure myself a warm bed.”

She frowned and pulled her purse out again to do the same. “Well, let me see if I can chip in. You know, to say thanks.” She looked into her purse and sighed. “Sorry, I barely had enough for the ale.”

“Well, how much do you have, love?” He leaned over to peer into her purse, but she moved it out of the way. “I’m short perhaps three coppers.”

She chuckled. “I have exactly three coppers.” She dumped out the coins and passed them to him, pressing them into his hand. “Thanks for your help.”

“Wait!” he said, wishing that he had a second hand to actually grab her wrist. Instead, he could only reach out his left arm in supplication. “Do you have somewhere to stay?” If she was dodging Regina’s knights, then he suspected the answer was _no._

She shrugged. “I’ll manage.”

“Come now,” he said, encouragingly. “I’m familiar with _managing,_ darling, and I’d wager that a soft, warm bed here is a far cry better than your other options.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You mean _sharing_ a soft, warm bed,” she corrected.

It was his turn to shrug. “I _am_ a gentleman, love.” She seemed skeptical, and he sighed. “Perhaps we could discuss this more in private?”

After what felt like a lifetime, she nodded.

Five minutes later, they were safely settled in a small but tidy room upstairs. “So, mister _gentleman,”_ the woman said as she tossed her rucksack to the floor and sat on the bed. “What _exactly_ is it that you think we’re going to discuss?”

“I thought that perhaps we could discuss our mutual enemy.” As he expected, she froze. “It’s all right, love. How does that saying go again? ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend?’”

“I guess it depends on why you’re her enemy,” she said coolly before closing her mouth and lifting her eyebrow expectantly.

Cleary, he was going to have to go first. “I’ve been tasked with finding someone who will help defeat Regina,” he said, keeping his voice down, just in case the walls were unusually thin. “I can’t say much more about my mission besides that.” Queen Snow had made it _very_ clear that secrecy would be vital; his success depended on it.

“Just ‘someone?’” she asked. “Are we talking someone specific, or just anyone?”

“Someone specific.” Just the long lost Princess of Misthaven, he thought bitterly. Just a princess no one had seen since she was a child, kidnapped by Queen Regina herself.

“Well, I guess I could get on board with that,” she replied. “Since I’d like nothing more than to beat the ever-loving shit out of her.”

He snorted. “I’d ask why, but it seems everyone has their own story with regards to the Evil Queen.”

“Let’s just say she destroyed my family, and we’ll leave it at that.”

A sad but common tale. “Well, I am glad that I could help you escape the notice of her knights this evening,” he said. “But I had a particularly trying day, and would like to get some rest.”

“Yeah, same here,” she said. She stood from the bed and began to undress. Killian quickly turned around as he did the same, though he kept his breeches on. When he turned back around, the woman was climbing into bed, her chemise barely covering _anything_. He had to consciously will his cock to remain soft. He slid in beside her before blowing out the lamp on the bedside table.

The mattress was quite comfortable, well worth the money they had cobbled together to spend on it. And it was rather wide, enough so that if the lass was a sound sleeper, they would likely make it through the entire night without touching.

The thought was a little disappointing, but he didn’t even know her name.

As though she’d read his mind, she whispered, “What’s your name?”

“Killian,” he whispered back. Better that she not know his moniker.

“I’m Swan,” she replied.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Swan.”

She didn’t say anything after that, and soon, he was swallowed up by sleep.

* * *

Killian awoke to a fully dressed Swan. Instead of the scandalously cut bodice and full skirts of the night before, she wore much more practical clothing consisting of sturdy breeches, tall boots, and a tight, maroon leather jerkin over her tunic. “Morning, sunshine,” she said, grinning as she finished stuffing her outfit from last night into her pack.

“Morning, love. Off so soon?”

“Yeah. I mean, gotta get out there and the next job, you know?”

“Next job?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m out of money now, so time to make some more.”

“Aye, fair point.” And a sobering reminder that he was also out of coin. If not for the fact that he realistically couldn’t leave Storybrooke until he had the princess in tow, he would simply head back to Snow and ask for more funds. Hell, at this point, he’d use his _own_ money if it were possible; he was determined to succeed out of sheer irritation at this point. It was just too bad that all of the rest of his gold was aboard the _Jolly Roger,_ which was docked in the harbor in the heart of Misthaven and just as inaccessible as any money he could get from Snow White. “What exactly do you have planned in that regard?”

She shrugged. “I have a knack for finding people. I figure I’ll just find the nearest noticeboard and see who’s looking for who. As long as the price is right and the person looking isn’t Regina or her loyalists, I’ll take what I can get. Why, what are you planning to do?”

 _Steal_ was on the tip of his tongue, but he opted for his other tactic. “I’m quite good at Liar’s Dice. I suppose if I can occupy myself until nightfall, I should have some luck this evening.”

“Uh huh,” she said, her tone making it clear that she didn’t quite believe him. “You’ve got no money to wager. I’d be careful about stealing from people in this town; word spreads and Regina loves making examples out of petty thieves.”

He believed her; the stocks in every village he’d visited in Storybrooke had been occupied constantly. The crimes committed were often as inoffensive as stealing an apple for survival. He had no doubt he could pilfer some coins entirely undetected, or that he could escape the stocks if he had to, but he knew that if he were to succeed in finding the princess, he needed to keep a low profile.

“I suppose I’ll just have to be careful then,” he said. “I’m quite used to it.”

She nodded. “Well, good luck finding your mysterious someone.”

“And good luck, Swan, whatever your goal may be.”

She chuckled. “My _goal?_ Escaping Storybrooke? Yeah, _right._ I’ll just stick to trying to survive.”

He perked up at that. “You’re trying to leave?”

“Shh!” He hadn’t been that loud, but even so, the walls were thin and discussing passage out of Regina’s kingdom was practically treasonous.

“Apologies. It’s just, once I’m done, I’m leaving.”

“You can’t leave,” she said, her tone disbelieving. “I’ve been trying to for years. It’s just not possible.”

“It is,” he said eagerly. “I got in, and I can get out.”

“That’s impossible,” she said, almost angrily. “No one can get _in_ either. Otherwise—look, everyone knows that the borders are impenetrable.”

“I’m telling the truth,” he said firmly. “And risking quite a lot by telling you this.”

She regarded him for a long moment before sucking in a breath. “But how did you even get in?”

“A lot of savvy and even more luck.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It was complicated.”

It _had_ been very complicated. Queen Snow, when she had briefed him on his mission, had made it clear that she’d sent spy after spy to the border for over two decades with no success. And to be sure, his plan hadn’t been much different from those that had previously failed. But if he was nothing else, he was a survivor, and certainly, he was a _pirate._ It was easier to defy a villain when you yourself were one.

He’d managed to procure a uniform and armor without arousing suspicion that either had been stolen, and then he’d devised a way to approach an outpost such that they would believe he was one of them.

The uniform he’d stolen was waiting for him where he’d left it, ready for his escape. Once again, he had no idea if he’d succeed, but it was the only plan he had. He would masquerade as a guard once more, and pretend to be expelling or even turning away the lost princess, once he’d found her. And then instead of escorting her through the border and letting her go on her way alone, he would flee for Misthaven along with her.

He looked at Swan, whose disbelief was turning into hope—hope that however he planned to escape, he could take one more person. And he _could;_ he could pretend to escort _two_ people across the border.

“I can take you with me,” he said, his voice low and insistent. “I can’t leave until I’ve found the person I was hired to find, but when I do, I’ll take you with me.”

“What are you going to do with that person?” she asked. “Kill them? Imprison them?”

He shook his head. “They’re needed to help defeat Regina,” he reminded her. “They’re here, likely imprisoned. I need to free them—rescue them, take them out of Storybrooke.”

She nodded. “Okay. Look, I’ll help you. Like I said, I’m good at finding people. You need someone found. So, let’s do this. I’ll help you find them, and then you’ll take both of us out.”

It was risky, accepting the help of this unknown woman. It had been one thing to admit to her that he was an enemy of Regina; he’d been sure enough that she was no loyalist. But he knew nothing about her, just that she found people for a living and was trying to get out of the kingdom.

Then again, she hardly knew anything about him either. And if she was this desperate to escape, that was something useful to him. She was unlikely to betray him if she needed him.

“All right,” he said, holding out his hand. She stepped forward and shook it. “We have an accord. We’ll find my missing person, and then we’ll escape.”

“Great. Now, get dressed. Unless your chiseled abs are a beacon for whoever you’re looking for, it’s probably better if you attracted less attention.”

He smirked. “And here I didn’t think you’d noticed.” She rolled her eyes before reaching for his shirt and throwing it at him.

This would be an interesting partnership, of that he was sure.

* * *

“So, what information do you have?” Swan asked. They had left the small village behind, and now had some privacy as they walked through the woods. “Or, I guess, what can you tell me? Since it’s all _secret_ and shit.”

“Secrets are often necessary,” Killian said patiently, fighting the urge to remind her that she seemed just as reluctant to share her own grievances and history with him. “Anyway, the person I seek, most of my information indicates that they’re imprisoned in Regina’s castle, in the dungeons.”

“Most of your information? Not all of it?”

“I paid quite a bit of money to a seer,” he admitted. “She said I could find this person in the village we just left—it’s why I was there. But I wasted my money, obviously.”

“So you need to break into Regina’s dungeons?” Swan asked.

“Aye, I suppose. I was rather hoping to avoid it. It’s harder to incur Regina’s wrath when I steer clear of her.”

“That’s for sure,” Swan agreed. “All right, so, dungeons. It’s been a while, but I think I can help there.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been there before,” she clarified. “I know the layout. And, well, I haven’t ever had to break _in,_ but I’m creative.”

“She imprisoned _you?”_ Well, if that were the case, holding a grudge against Regina made quite a lot of sense. “Why?”

“Why does she ever imprison anyone?” Swan snapped bitterly. “She wants everyone to be afraid and hopeless all the time. She makes examples of people, or just imprisons them for no reason just to make sure everyone knows that this could be you. You know?” She sighed. “I guess you don’t know since you’re not from here.”

“Something I’m grateful for,” he admitted. “I’ve had enough pain and suffering in my life _without_ having to constantly fear wrongful imprisonment.” Now, _justified_ imprisonment was something else altogether, but he’d managed to wriggle out of that successfully, most recently in Misthaven.

He’d just had to promise to find the damn lost princess, a task that was proving itself extremely challenging. Even if Swan knew the dungeons well enough to help him break in and search, his instincts were telling him that the princess was not there.

Damn that seer for being wrong!

“Yeah,” Swan said, distracting him from his thoughts. “I mean—never mind.”

“Never mind what?”

“I don’t want to be an asshole.”

“Well, perhaps not, but now I’m curious.”

“Okay, well … I just assumed you’d dealt with some tough shit because you only have one hand.”

“What?” he exclaimed, feigning surprise and holding up his left arm in amazement. “Bloody hell, you’re right!”

“Ugh, stop! I told you, I didn’t want to be an asshole!”

“Oh, come now, love, let me have a bit of fun.”

“Fine.”

He chuckled. “I lost my hand years ago, but I’m used to it.”

“Still.”

“Aye, still. More painful than that was the loss of my love, though. Far more difficult to recover from.” Oh, Milah. But he’d have his revenge soon.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Heartbreak is the worst.”

“That it is.”

“I, uh … there was a guy. A while ago.”

“Aye?”

“Yeah. Dipshit left me in the middle of the night, though. No explanation.”

“Ah, a coward.”

“Yep.”

“You didn’t deserve that.”

She snorted. “You don’t know me well enough to know that.”

“We’re aligned against Regina, and you’re helping me. That’s good enough for me.”

“That’s irrelevant,” she countered. “Honestly, I think I’m fundamentally unlovable.”

He stopped short at her words. Fundamentally unlovable? As far as he was concerned, there was no such thing. Even the bloody Dark One had found someone to love him.

She stopped as well and looked at him curiously. “What? Is that so terrible _shocking_ or something?”

“I simply don’t believe that’s true.”

“Well, I’ve got no evidence that says otherwise.”

“Swan, _really.”_

 _“Really,”_ she mimicked. “It’s fine. Really. Come on, okay? We’ve got a lot of ground to cover to get to the next town. I don’t think we’re going to make it before nightfall at this rate.”

“Fine.” But her insistence grated on him. To be sure, it didn’t _really_ matter all that much if she stubbornly held on to such an absurd belief. She would help him find the princess, he’d help her escape this kingdom, and then they’d never see each other again. She’d start her new life, and he’d collect his reward and have his vengeance.

But even so, she was _wrong._

At least, she was wrong about being fundamentally unlovable; she was absolutely correct that they weren’t making good enough time to reach the next village. By the time the sun was beginning to set, they were still between towns, with no civilization in sight. “I suppose we should make camp,” he said wearily. He loathed sleeping on the road.

“Yeah, we should,” Swan agreed. “Do you have any food? I have a couple of pears.”

“Unfortunately, the apples we ate for breakfast were the last of my stores. But we’re close enough to the river that I might be able to procure some supper.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Aye. Shall we find somewhere to settle down for the night?”

Soon enough, they’d found a decent spot, and Swan got to building a fire while he hiked down to the river with their waterskins, his fishing line, and one of the pears to use as bait.

He was relieved that Swan didn’t question why he didn’t suggest setting up snares or hunting for game. As for the latter, since neither of them carried a bow of any sort, he assumed that she simply considered neither of them equipped for it. But he had no skill whatsoever with snares, which he knew might clue her in to the fact that he was unused to traveling by land like this. That, coupled with his preparedness to fish, and she might suspect he was a seafaring man.

And the last thing he needed was for his new ally to figure out that she was helping a ruthless pirate. To be sure, he hadn’t become as villainous as Regina, but his reputation as Captain Hook wasn’t one that was likely to endear him to anyone. Queen Snow White had nearly sent him to the gallows for his long list of crimes; it was only his carefully worded pleas, made with the appropriate tone, that convinced her that his life was worth sparing.

He felt naked and helpless without his hook, but there was a reason his hook was hidden. If he didn’t want people to know he was Hook, he couldn’t very well _wear_ it.

By the time he returned to where he’d left Swan, a couple of decent trout in hand, she’d managed to get the fire started, and she’d also set up her own bedroll. “Do you want me to, uh, handle that?” she asked, pointing to the fish. “I’m only okay at it, but then you could get yourself set up.”

“I’ve already cleaned them,” he said, holding them up.

“Oh, good.” She relaxed visibly. “Good, I was lying, I suck at that. But I can cook them.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

The smell of cooking fish reached his nostrils as he pulled out his own bedroll and began hunting for the softest, most even ground to rest it on. He felt a small twinge of apprehension as he realized that the best spot would be directly next to Swan. They’d shared a bed last night, but had there been two beds in the room, or enough money for them both to have their own room, they certainly wouldn’t have. Would she be offended or uncomfortable if he slept beside her again?

“You don’t have to be weird about it,” she said. He turned to see that she was watching him. “There’s a reason I got set up there—best spot for bedrolls. I don’t care if you sleep next to me.”

“I didn’t want to presume. Thank you.”

They sat beside each other, in front of the fire, as they slowly ate their meal. Hopefully, they could manage to make (or steal) some money in the next town, and leave with some proper supplies. But in the meantime, he’d survived on fish for weeks at a time; one night here and there of meals consisting solely of seafood wouldn’t kill him. And they did split the remaining pear between them for dessert.

“Do you think it’ll rain?” Swan asked when she returned from disposing the remainder of their supper. “I have sort of a half tent I can set up if we need it.”

“I doubt it,” he replied. Years of sailing had left him rather attuned to the weather, and he didn’t feel any rain in the air.

“Good. It’s a pain in the ass to set up.” She pulled off her boots and jerkin before crawling into her bedroll. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Aye. The sooner we can get to town, the better.”

“Gonna pick some pockets and get us both in trouble?”

“Now, Swan, have some faith in me.”

“I’ll try.” And then, she closed her eyes and, as far as he could tell, fell asleep immediately.

She was really quite beautiful as she slept, or at least, as she appeared to sleep. While she often smirked, she typically frowned; it was refreshing to see her face more relaxed, her expression neutral.

He wondered about her imprisonment as he removed his boots and coat and climbed into his own bedroll. Though he believed that Regina would likely punish some of her citizens with no cause, just to inspire fear, he doubted that Swan had been one of those unlucky few. He’d spent one day in Swan’s presence; he could sense that there was something about her that had made her a target for the Evil Queen. Perhaps she hadn’t personally offended Regina, but maybe a family member had, and Swan was punished by proxy. But whatever had happened, she was far too angry at Regina, and far too brazen about defying her, to have been no one or to have done nothing.

Not that it made him reluctant to travel with her or ally himself with her. On the contrary, it made him more confident that he’d found the right person to work with. And though he wished to know her secrets, he was keeping his own; it only seemed fair that she could have hers to herself.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up abruptly to the sensation of something pressing against him. He stiffened, unsure of what exactly was happening.

“Sorry.” It was Swan, her whisper muffled. “It’s cold.”

It _was_ cold. The fire was low now, and the parts of him exposed to the air were almost numb. It was then that he registered that it was _Swan_ who was touching him, as well as the meaning of her comments.

Well, he _was_ a gentleman; it would be bad form to leave his companion shivering cold. He shifted onto his side, pulling his blankets with him, so that he was right up against her. “Turn over,” he said softly. She did so, facing away from him and shimmying towards him until her back was against his chest. After a little more fumbling with blankets so that they covered both of them as completely as possible, he carefully looped his arm over her. “Better?”

“Uh huh.”

“Good.”

Back to sleep they went.

* * *

They made it to the next village late the following morning. There was a low-hanging coin purse just begging to be picked, but before Killian could snatch it, Swan grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to a notice board. “Seriously, better to not risk it,” she warned as she began scanning the notices. “Besides, here we go.” She pulled one particular piece of parchment down. “This’ll be easy.”

He peered at the notice over her shoulder. “Swan, there’s hardly any information. ‘Young man with dark hair and blue eyes?’ This might not be the largest village in Storybrooke, but certainly there must be plenty of inhabitants that fit this description.”

She rolled her eyes. “Have some faith in me, okay, Killian?”

“As you’ve had faith in my ability to secure funds undetected?”

“Fine, how about we make a deal?”

He bristled at the thought of a deal, but Swan wasn’t the Dark One trying to manipulate him. “What terms do you suggest?”

“If I can’t find this guy before the taverns start serving dinner, you can pick pockets to your heart’s content.”

“I accept.” He held out his hand and she shook it. “Although I’d wager that you will be giving up early.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, I hope you like being wrong. Now, come on.”

As he followed her, he plucked the notice from her hand to take another look. There really _was_ very little information. A man named Geppetto was looking for his son, Pinocchio, who had been missing for a few days. Pinocchio was described as a man of thirty-five years, with dark hair and blue eyes. There was no reward quantity given, just a mention that there _was_ one.

That was it. That was _all_ Swan had to work with? He’d be stealing a coin purse or two within the hour.

After a few minutes of walking, they arrived at a tavern. “Wait out here,” she said. “I need to get some information, and since I don’t have any money, I need to resort to some … other tactics. And you coming in with me will ruin it.”

“What’s that?” he asked, accepting her pack as she handed it to him.

She grinned before looking down and fiddling with the laces on her jerkin. Ah, of course; a short moment later, Swan’s breasts were prominently, though tastefully, on display. “I’ll wait out here,” he said. “Be quick, though. If any lawmen are patrolling, my loitering will look suspicious.”

“I’ll be quicker than quick,” she promised, and then she ducked into the tavern.

True to her word, hardly any time had passed before she was stepping back out, a wide smile on her face. She grabbed her pack from him. “All right! Come on.”

He followed her through the streets; with each turn, their surroundings became shabbier. He’d had enough experience to know that their destination was somewhere of ill repute, and although he could handle himself if they found themselves in danger, he was curious as to why Swan was so convinced that they were heading in the right direction. What questions had she asked in the tavern?

She stopped in front of a green door and knocked.

After a minute, the door opened and a young woman stuck her head out. “Yes?”

“Hi,” Swan said. “Is August there?”

“Uh, no,” the woman said, her eyes darting between him and Swan suspiciously. “I think you have the wrong place.”

“Are you sure?” Swan asked. Her tone made him want to chuckle; she clearly knew she had the right place, and was determined to catch this woman in a lie. “My friend told me I could find him here,” and she gestured to Killian, “and I don’t think my friend would lie to me.”

Killian nodded, playing along. “I wouldn’t.” He reached down to grip his belt buckle, an action that he knew looked entirely casual while also drawing attention to the sword at his waist.

The woman seemed to know that they weren’t going away. She sighed. “All right, come in, but be quick.”

They followed her inside; as soon as she shut the door, it was nearly pitch black but for a few candles lit here and there. “He’s down here,” she said, beckoning them down a hallway and into a room.

There were several mattresses strewn about the floor, most of them without linens, and most of them occupied by sleeping figures. The reason for their midday slumber was made clear from the drug paraphernalia on the floor and on the table pushed up against one wall.

The woman knelt down next to one sleeping figure and shook him awake. “Hey—hey, August, these people are looking for you.”

The man stirred and looked up at her in confusion before he processed her words. Then his eyes widened, and he flailed wildly, pushing himself to his feet and bolting for the door.

Obviously expecting this turn of events, Swan easily reached out and grabbed his arm. His strength, perhaps amplified by panic, was considerable, though, and he practically dragged her out of the room. “Bloody hell,” Killian hissed, rushing out after them.

He caught up with them down the hallway and managed to grab the man’s other arm and throw him face-first against the wall. “All right there, Swan?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she panted. “I didn’t realize he’d give me _this_ much trouble.”

“Please let me go,” the man pleaded. “I didn’t do anything, I swear!”

“I don’t care about that,” Swan told him. “I don’t care about information, or names, or suspicious activity.”

“I don’t know anything!”

“I don’t _care,”_ she repeated. “Your dad is worried about you, okay? He’s looking for you. He just wants you to come home.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Killian, do you still have the notice?”

“Aye, it’s … sorry, love, I can’t reach it with one hand, but it’s in my vest.”

“Okay, just hold on.” She shifted over, now pressing August’s arm into his back, and used her other hand to reach into his vest for the notice. He felt a little strange as her fingers probed around for it, before reminding himself that the gesture was entirely purposeful, and had no romantic or sexual intentions behind it. Once she’d found the notice and pulled it out, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

She slapped it on the wall in front of August. “Here, see? That’s your dad’s handwriting. Come on, August.”

The man looked at it and shook his head. “I can’t go home. He’d kill me.”

“Really?” she asked skeptically.

“He thinks I’m just this _perfect_ good son, and I’m not.”

“I’m not gonna tell him where I found you, or what you’ve been up to,” she promised. “But seriously, you’ve got a father who loves you and he just wants to find you. Some people would give anything to have parents who cared enough about them to look for them when they disappear. That’s gotta mean something to you, right?”

The man grumbled what appeared to be assent; Swan’s face lit up. “Okay, so let’s go.”

Not twenty minutes later, Swan had reunited Geppetto with his son and collected the reward. They now had money, enough for plenty of supplies as well as a few nights at an inn. And to Killian’s amazement, it was hardly past midday.

“How did you do it?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she asked mischievously.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“Maybe later? Come on, let’s get supplies. We can shop, eat, stay the night somewhere, and then leave first thing in the morning.”

That night, they crawled into bed as they had two nights before. Though they had enough money for two rooms, it hardly felt necessary, especially since they were likely to need to spend another night an inn somewhere down the line. “All right,” he said. “Will you _please_ tell me?”

“Only if you admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you should have had more faith in me.”

He sighed. “While I think we would have been _perfectly_ fine had we resorted to my original tactic—”

“This doesn’t sound like you having faith in me.”

“You were bloody brilliant today, and I’m happy that we didn’t need to,” he finished firmly. “And I’m not just saying that for your approval,” he added, propping himself up on his elbow so he could look her in the eye properly. “I still can’t believe you managed to find him so quickly, with so little information. Bloody. Brilliant.”

She smiled, almost shyly. “Well, it wasn’t as hard as you seem to think.”

He frowned. How quickly had she gone from _I have a knack for finding people_ to _It wasn’t as hard as you seem to think?_ But before he could ask about her inconsistency, she continued.

“Right, so there was another notice on the board. Regina’s men were looking for some guy named August who matched the same description—same age, hair color, eye color. Wanted for suspicious activity, possibly for having information on a rebellion.”

“Bloody hell.”

“So I figured, if I were this guy, I wouldn’t want to leave town because the soldiers might eventually go after my dad, and I’d want to protect him. But I’d also need to lay low. So I just went into the tavern and asked for where a girl could have a fun time for a few days, and they told me this girl Lily ran a place that might interest me. When we showed up, she was lying about him not being there, so I knew we had the right place—thanks for playing along.”

“How did you know she was lying?”

She shrugged. “I just have a thing for it, I guess. I can tell when people lie to me, at least most of the time.”

He suspected that _most of the time_ instead of _all of the time_ was in reference to the heartbreak she’d mentioned. Fair enough. “Well, as I said, it was brilliant, love.”

“Thanks.” She grinned. “Sleep?”

“Aye.” She lay down next to him, tugging at the bedlinens. “Oi, don’t be a hog.”

“Hey, I distinctly remember waking up yesterday morning with freezing cold feet because you stole all the blankets.”

“That is wildly untrue.”

_“Sure.”_

“Swan?”

“Yeah?”

“What you said to him—about some people giving anything to know their parents were looking for them …” He was unsure how to finish his question.

But she clearly understood. “I used to think they did,” she whispered. “But, I mean … I guess …”

It was his turn to understand. The words _fundamentally unlovable_ were almost audible as she reached up to wipe at her face.

He rolled over and held her until her tears subsided, and they both fell asleep.

* * *

“So how far are we from the castle?” Killian asked. They’d been on the road for a few hours before Swan had insisted they turn off and walk through the forest underbrush.

“Not very,” she replied. Maybe two more nights? The closer we get to the castle, the less I like being out in the open. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course, love. As I expect I’ve made clear, I’d rather arouse as little suspicion as possible. I’m attempting to break into Regina’s dungeon and immediately leave, not be escorted in as her latest prisoner.”

“Yeah, I’m _really_ hoping my return is temporary.”

“How did you escape?” he asked. “I don’t mean to pry. It’s just that perhaps we should discuss a plan where it’s relatively safe to do so.”

“We probably should,” she agreed drily. “I managed to escape by convincing the warden to move me to a different cell.”

“I can’t imagine any cell would have bars wide enough for you to fit through.” He waited for her response or continuation, but none came. He turned to see her looking quite haunted. “Swan?”

“Maybe I’m too big now,” she said softly. “But I wasn’t when I was ten and intentionally starving myself.”

“Bloody hell. Swan, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s _not.”_ Last night, she’d essentially admitted that she’d been separated from her parents and they’d never looked for her. And now, he’d practically forced her to acknowledge that she’d been a _child_ prisoner, as well as the lengths she’d had to go to in order to free herself. And what had he offered her in return? Nothing.

“My lover’s husband cut off my hand,” he said quickly, before he lost his nerve.

“What?”

“My hand,” he repeated. “They had a loveless marriage, and she ran away with me. Years later, he found us and decided to make an example of her for leaving him.”

“Killian, it’s okay.”

“He bound me, leaving me helpless as he took her life. Right in front of me. When I freed myself to rush to her aid, it was too late. And when I tried to avenge him there and then, I failed. He cut off my hand in the process.”

“Please, seriously,” she said, panic creeping into her voice. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’ve had to bare parts of yourself you wished to keep hidden,” he replied. Didn’t she see that? “You’ve divulged your history unwillingly, purely due to my curiosity.”

“Killian, I agreed to help break you into the dungeon,” she reminded him. “I knew we’d have to talk about my own escape at some point.”

“That doesn’t mean you needed to do so without recompense. Or that you were obligated to disclose what you did last night.”

“So, what, for every part of my _tragic backstory_ I spill, you’re gonna do the same?” He frowned thoughtfully; that seemed fair actually. “Ugh, no, you really don’t have to!”

“Maybe I do,” he disagreed. “Maybe if we’re to have an equal partnership, you should get to know me a little better, as I now know you.” She sighed. “So, to even out last night’s disclosure: my brother died in my arms.”

She was quiet again. The conversation was clearly over, and they continued on in silence.

As the sun began to set, she pointed out the best place for them to make camp. Though they now had provisions, they were still close to the river; Killian opted to catch fish again to supplement their meal. He returned to find that Swan had set up camp for them, with both bedrolls placed side by side, and the mattresses pressed against each other. He neglected to comment on the arrangement.

“Do you think it’ll rain?” she asked, once they finished their meal.

He sniffed the air. “I doubt it.”

“Good.”

“We neglected to finish discussing our plan earlier.”

“Yeah. True.”

“Do we have one?”

“Possibly. I escaped by memorizing the guards’ schedules and making a hole in an outer wall. I took a couple months. If the hole I made isn’t there anymore, we could probably disguise ourselves and lie our asses off to get in. But we’d probably have to actually work for Regina for a bit; I’ve heard she has a way of sniffing out rebels otherwise.”

“Here’s hoping for the hole in the wall then. Wouldn’t she recognize you, though?”

“Probably not. It’s been almost twenty years.”

“That’s beneficial.”

“Definitely.”

They crawled into their bedrolls together, since the two had essentially become one, and there was no awkward preamble as Swan nestled against him, or as he arranged the blankets around them. It was bound to get chilly again, and so they might as well plan to stay as warm as possible.

But Killian would have been lying if he’d said it didn’t mean any more than that. He had to actively stop himself from breathing in her scent too noticeably; it was intoxicating.

“I’m sorry,” Swan whispered once they’d finally settled in.

“For what, love?”

“For your brother. And your lover.”

He sighed. “Thank you.”

As he fell asleep, it occurred to him that she hadn’t mentioned the loss of his hand. Perhaps she understood, then, that losing the appendage had meant nothing in light of the life that had been lost that day.

He hoped she did.

* * *

The following afternoon, they arrived at the small city surrounding Regina’s castle. They made an early supper before renting a room for the night. Tomorrow, they’d try to break in, for better or for worse.

“So, can you tell me any more information?” Swan asked, sitting down on the bed.

“I’m not sure that I can,” Killian replied. Snow White had been fiercely adamant that he keep his mission as much of a secret as he could. Her daughter’s life hung in the balance.

“Seriously?” She rolled her eyes. “Tomorrow morning, we’re walking out of this inn and sneaking into Regina’s fucking castle to rescue this person. You know I’m good at finding people, but _some_ info would be helpful.”

He sighed as he pulled off his boots. The anxiety and apprehension he experienced before a job was rising to uncomfortable levels, and knowing they were about to walk into the proverbial lion’s den was not helping. “I seek someone who’s been imprisoned by Regina for years.” _Decades,_ he wanted to admit, but that was unnecessarily specific. “They are capable of defeating her.”

“How?” Swan asked skeptically. “Regina is an all-powerful sorceress.”

“The person I seek is one of the most powerful magic wielders in all the realms,” he countered. “At least, they _will_ be. My employer seeks to have them trained properly.”

“Trained? That doesn’t sound good.”

“No, not like that,” he said, exasperated. “Trained in the use of magic. They will be well-cared for, I assure you. I’m not hunting them down to sent them off to the slaughter. I’m _rescuing_ them from Regina, whom I’m sure they will wish to defeat.”

“Fair enough.” Swan dropped onto the bed beside him. “Okay, so magic-user, imprisoned for years. Can I get a gender? Name? Age?”

“Swan, please, it’s not that I don’t trust you.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked gloomily.

“Never.” He grasped her hand. “I follow you, love. You could be leading me into a trap for all I know, and I’ll still follow you.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” she grumbled. “What if I’m working for Regina and she sent me to ruin your precious mission?”

He chuckled. “How do you know _I_ don’t work for her?”

“I …” She trailed off immediately, brows knitting together as she obviously mentally searched for an answer. “I guess I just know you don’t.”

“And I know _you_ don’t.” He squeezed her hand. “Swan, I wish I could tell you everything. But I can’t. I’ve already told you more than I likely should have.”

“What if I told you stuff?” she asked. “What if it didn’t have to be one way?”

“What do you mean?” But before she could answer, her meaning clicked. “No, Swan.”

“But—”

“No,” he repeated firmly. “You keep your secrets for a reason. As much as I’d love to know you more, to learn about you, I want you to tell me when you’re ready, and not as part of some emotional transaction.”

“Fine,” she said sullenly, dropping his hand. She rose from the bed and began to undress. “I guess we should go to bed. We’ve gotta get up pretty early.”

“Aye.” The conversation had obviously come to a close, albeit an entirely unsatisfying one. He didn’t particularly enjoy the thought of her being so cross with him, but secrecy was crucial.

The past few nights, they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, and now Killian found that it was difficult to drift off when Swan was on the other side of the bed. How had she managed to ensconce herself in his life in such a short period of time? How had he grown so accustomed to her presence that he couldn’t sleep without her touch?

Worse, it was frustrating that he couldn’t resolve this conflict by telling her the truth. He _wanted_ to. It wasn’t simply that telling her would make it easier for her to help him; it was that he hated the hurt he saw in her eyes as she became convinced that he did not trust her.

Their unlikely partnership was still a partnership. And as unsettling as it was that it had happened so quickly, that he’d felt this closeness so strongly, it _had_ happened. He couldn’t imagine leaving her behind, even if her escape was the condition of her assistance.

But he could not tell her. He was a man of honor, and his life had been granted in exchange for the rescue and return of Princess Emma of Misthaven. He had agreed to bring her back, and he would do anything he could to ensure he did so.

A coward would flee. A coward would deem the venture hopeless and take off with his life. A coward would spill his secrets in the hopes that either someone else could fulfill the mission for him, or that the act of revealing his mission would botch it. And then who could blame him for not succeeding?

But he was no coward. He was a survivor. And if he was going to survive and succeed, he could not tell Swan.

“Did you mean it?” she whispered, startling him. “Oh, shit, I didn’t realize you were asleep.”

“I wasn’t. Did I mean what?”

“You said you wanted to know me. Earlier, when we were fighting.”

He frowned. “Of course I meant it. Why wouldn’t I have?” Why would she suspect he was being untruthful? She’d _said_ she had the ability to detect lies; shouldn’t she be able to _tell_ he’d meant it? Or was she truly this insecure?

_Honestly, I think I’m fundamentally unlovable._

He turned towards her to find her looking at him, her unshed tears making her eyes glitter in the dark. “Come with me,” he whispered.

“What?” She frowned, confused. “Like, now?”

“When we leave this place,” he clarified. “Once I’ve completed my mission, and we’re both free—come with me.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

Her kiss was unexpected, but it felt right. _Unbelievably_ right, as though there were magic at play. As though there were magic coursing between them as lips touched, as hands touched, as bodies touched. His heart practically sang her name with every beat. _Swan. Swan. Swan._ And when he finally sank into her, she whispered his own. _Killian._

Whatever happened tomorrow, he knew that at least they would be together.

When they fell asleep, once again in each other’s arms, nothing between them but the sweat from their lovemaking, that was the only thought on his mind.

* * *

Breaking into the dungeon hadn’t been as difficult as Killian had imagined. Granted, he _was_ following someone who’d escaped from the very same dungeons; that Swan knew where to go meant that they didn’t have to spend much time searching for a way in. But within an hour of leaving the inn that morning, they had managed to approach the castle from an unusual angle and make it all the way to the outer wall without being detected.

“Impressive, love.”

“My memory’s pretty good.”

“You’re still impressive.”

She blushed. “Okay.”

He grinned. They were about to embark on an unbelievably risky venture that could result in both their deaths, and yet her shy acceptance of his praise made him smile. “What now?”

They hid their packs in the underbrush and proceeded to the stone wall; she pointed to a particular brick. At first glance, it appeared to be entirely normal, but obviously if Swan were pointing it out, it must not be. He stepped a little closer to her; sure enough, from this angle, he could see that the mortar was missing. This was clearly removable. “Shall I?” he asked.

“Go for it.”

Once the first brick had been removed, it was easy to see that the two below it were also loose; that was all it took to create enough space for each of them to slip inside. It wasn’t exactly easy, and clearly it had been easier for a younger, emaciated Swan to fit through than it was for either of them now, but it wasn’t impossible either.

“Do we try to close it up?” he asked once they were both inside.

“No. We’re in a closet. And it’ll make it harder to escape if we have to spend time pushing the bricks out again. Although—” She moved an empty barrel in front of it and stacked some empty crates atop that; the gap was hidden well enough that someone glancing into the closet wouldn’t spot it. “This should be easy to move out of the way if we’re in a rush.”

“Excellent. Where does this open to?”

“One of the hallways that leads into the dungeons. We’ll still need to get in, but I’ve got a lock pick. I can’t imagine it’ll be harder to break in than out, and I didn’t have the best set of tools back in the day. Or the expertise. So this should be a piece of cake as long as we don’t get caught.”

“Do you think the guards’ schedule is the same as it was before?”

Swan grimaced. “I didn’t think about that. She’s probably bolstered security since I got out.”

“It wasn’t terribly strict beforehand?”

“Well, I guess maybe? I haven’t heard of anyone getting out of their cell before or since. If things are the same as when I was here, there are two checks every day, and two meals every day, so as long as it’s not one of those four times, we should be okay.” She sighed. “Is this stupid? Why did I assume things would be the same?”

“It’s all right, love.” He squeezed her arm reassuringly. “It’s better than any plan I might have come up with. Besides, we’re both quick on our feet, and we work well together. If we need to improvise, I’m sure we’ll succeed.”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “All right, let’s do this before I lose my nerve.”

“Wait.”

“What?”

He moved forward and gently kissed her. He hoped he wasn’t overstepping, but considering the kiss she’d woken him up with, he thought it was a safe bet that their lovemaking wasn’t a fluke. He was still a little relieved when she immediately kissed him back, her hand threading through his hair.

She pulled back, a wry smile on her lips. “What, a goodbye kiss in case we both die?”

He rolled his eyes. “An optimist, you are. It was a thank you for bringing me here. I can’t imagine you wanted to return.”

“Yeah, well … you’re getting me out of here, so what’s one more quick trip through my own personal hell?” He winced at her choice of language. “Killian, really, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he said. “And all the more appreciated for it. Now, let’s not stay here any longer than we have to.”

She nodded and moved towards the door.

The hallway, lined with torches, was deserted; he followed Swan down it, and then through another corridor. He wondered how she remembered the way after so long; if she had been ten years old, it must have been at _least_ a decade ago that she’d escaped, and possibly two.

But then again, escaping Regina’s dungeon was no small feat; Swan had obviously had to plan carefully. She’d mentioned memorizing the guards’ schedules, and spending a significant amount of time removing the bricks from the closet wall. She would have easily memorized the path from the closet to the dungeons.

He briefly wondered if this was a setup; would she have truly been capable of that? Or was she working for Regina, and leading him onward to his doom?

No. He shook his head at the thought. He could feel in his very bones that she was on his side. There would be no betrayal from her, and certainly none from him. Besides, from everything he knew of her, from every facet of her sharp and splendid personality, he believed she _could_ have escaped. And that she _would_ have.

“Here,” she whispered, waving him over to a door as she pulled out a pick from her jerkin. She made quick work of the lock; if she didn’t flee once he revealed his identity as a pirate, she would make one hell of a member of his crew. The tumblers fell into place, and she pulled the door open. “After you.”

The dungeon was depressing. There were plenty of cells, and every single one was full. As they walked down the narrow hallway, and as he examined every prisoner, people started to realize that he and Swan were _not_ supposed to be there.

“Are you here to rescue us?”

“Please, I have three children at home!”

“Help me, please!”

“Shit,” Swan said. “We don’t have time to bust people out.”

“I know,” he said solemnly. “Just—let’s just look for them.”

“For who?” she asked. “I just—I can’t help you otherwise.”

“Right. A woman, around our age.”

“Gotcha.”

There was no sight of such a prisoner. The majority of prisoners were men, and the few that were women were all middle-aged or older, with the exception of a young girl who couldn’t have been a day older than sixteen.

“I don’t see anyone,” Swan said. “I’m sorry, Killian.”

“Bloody hell. I _knew_ she wouldn’t be here. It’s why I paid that seer. I knew the sources would be wrong.”

“There are a few more cells towards the back,” she suggested.

“Let’s check those, then. But then we need to leave.”

“Right.”

There were, in fact, a few more cells. This part of the dungeon looked like an expansion, built later on when Regina must have run out of space. The bars were spaced differently, and the stone of the floors and walls were larger and lighter in color.

Most of the inhabitants of the cells appeared no different than the rest of the prisoners, equally confused, hopeful, and desperate. And, just like the rest of the prisoners, there were no women who could possibly be the princess.

But one cell was completely empty.

“Odd,” he said. “Why would she keep this cell empty when every other one is filled with multiple people?”

“I—I don’t know,” Swan said. For the first time since they’d entered the castle, she sounded panicked.

He stepped up closer to peer inside. It hardly looked special, no bigger or smaller than any of the other cells in the expanded part of the dungeon.

Something on the wall caught his eye. There was a number carved into the stone: _1765._ And then tally marks. It looked as though someone had been counting their days in captivity, but what did the number mean?

But then he spotted something else. On the floor, beside the tiny cot, was a lumpy figure.

“Swan, what is that?”

“I don’t know,” she said again. Her voice was shaky.

“Is that …”

His eyes widened.

Princess Emma had been abducted at night, snatched from her bed. Also missing had been the soft toy duck she’d slept with every night.

And that lumpy figure was most absolutely a soft toy duck.

This had been the princess’ cell. She’d been here.

There were shouts from the other side of the dungeon. “Shit! Killian!”

It was too late. Before he could draw his sword, there were guards surrounding them, pressing them into the cold iron bars to subdue them. They were captured.

* * *

The Queen’s throne room was a jarring change of venue from the rough stone of the cold, dark dungeon. Everything was mirrored and polished, to the point where Killian was a little suspicious that if he stomped his foot too hard, he would find that the floor was made of glass, and he would shattered it and fall to his death.

Which he might need to do, to prevent Regina from torturing any information out of him.

The guards threw them to the ground and then departed.

The room was empty except for himself and Swan, and they weren’t bound in any way. Therefore, he did the first thing that he could think to do: embrace her.

“Are you all right, love?”

She nodded into his shoulder. “I think so.” Her voice was muffled by his shirt, and she pulled away. “Look, if you can run, _run_ , okay?”

He shook his head. “I promised you I’d take you with me,” he reminded her. “Nothing’s changed.”

“I didn’t help you find your person.”

“Then you _have_ to come with me.” He smiled. “Since you haven’t finished helping me, of course.”

She let out a weak laugh, but she shook her head. “Killian, she’s going to kill me.”

“I won’t let her.”

“That’s not really up to you, is it?” He nearly snapped his neck turning towards the new voice.

The throne on the dais had been empty moments ago, but now, Regina sat in it. He had never seen her before, but it was obviously her: her steel gray hair was elaborately styled with jewels; her gown was encrusted with diamonds; and her smile made his blood freeze.

“Well, I suppose we’ll see,” he replied through clenched teeth.

“You know, you _don’t_ quite live up to the stories,” she said, sounding almost bored as she glanced down at her nails. They were filed into points, like claws, and painted with black lacquer. “I assumed that Captain Hook would have had a better plan to break into my castle than to go straight to the dungeons I would eventually stick him.”

He winced at the question he knew was coming. “Captain Hook?” Swan asked in disbelief. “You’re—you’re _Captain Hook?”_

“Oh!” Regina’s voice was filled with delight. “This is a treat! You didn’t even tell her?”

“I had no idea my reputation had spread this far,” he admitted. If the jig was up, he might as well arm himself; he reached into the hidden pocket in his coat and pulled out his hook. He heard Swan’s gasp—hardly more than a sharp intake of breath, but it shamed him all the same—as he attached it to the end of his brace.

“I make it a point to stay informed,” Regina said. “Either way, you may not have terrorized _my_ kingdom, but I _do_ like to spread stories of the evils of the world outside of Storybrooke. My citizens weren’t aware of your youth, though. Or, more accurately, your appearance of it.”

“As much as I love compliments regarding my handsome visage, I’d prefer to get on with it.” Perhaps he could distract Regina long enough for Swan to escape.

“There isn’t much to _get on_ with,” Regina said. “While I do enjoy toying with my food, I’ve learned the hard way that this little mouse can’t be trusted to stay put.” She stood from her throne and began to walk towards them. “He must have been _very_ good in bed, dear,” she said, addressing Swan, “if he could convince you to walk straight back in here, right to your own death.”

“Swan, don’t listen to her.”

“‘Swan?’” Regina mocked in disbelief. She laughed. _“That’s_ what you told him your name was? Oh, my dear, that is _pathetic.”_

 _“You’re_ pathetic,” Swan snapped.

“Not all ugly ducklings are really swans, Emma. Some ugly ducklings are just _ugly ducks.”_

It took Killian a moment to register what Regina had just said.

What she’d called Swan.

Emma.

_Emma._

His jaw dropped.

Swan had escaped from Regina’s dungeon, the same dungeon he now had proof that Princess Emma had been imprisoned in. She was the right age, the right sex. The story added up: the empty cell that had to have housed the princess had more widely spaced bars than the others—enough for Swan to have fit through.

She’d been in that bloody village, just as the seer had said. She’d practically dropped into his lap.

He’d found the lost princess of Misthaven.

And now, because of his secrecy, because of his stubborn refusal to jeopardize the mission, he had quite literally brought her to be slaughtered by the very woman he’d been sent to rescue her from.

“Emma,” he said. “Emma, it’s you.”

Both women turned to him in confusion. “What?” Swan asked.

“I was looking for _you.”_

Her eyes widened, but Regina rolled hers. “Enough,” she said impatiently. “As ironic as it is that you were sent to find her and didn’t realize it, I’ve got business to attend to.” She flicked her wrist in his direction.

He grunted as an invisible force slammed into him, and he flew backwards until he hit the wall. The force continued to press against him, keeping him immobilized against the smooth, glassy stone. He was entirely unable to move, except to stare at the scene that was about to unfold in front of him.

His stomach dropped. It was happening again. He was helpless, held in place by magic, unable to do anything but watch the woman he loved as she was ruthlessly murdered.

But it was worse this time.

He had tried to protect Milah, to sacrifice himself for her. As for Swan? He had _brought_ her here, straight to her death. And he could even open his mouth to tell her—that he was sorry, that he hadn’t known, that he loved her.

At least her death would be easier to avenge than Milah’s. Regina wasn’t immortal; he would enjoy filleting her with his hook.

He watched as Regina used her magic to force Swan to her knees. “Any last words, dear? I will enjoy relaying them to your parents.”

“Yeah, I’ve got some last words,” Swan ground out bitterly.

“Yes?” Regina tutted at her. “Come now, Emma. Don’t leave us in suspense.”

“I fucking have _magic.”_

Regina blinked, clearly expecting something else. “What?”

“I fucking have _magic,”_ Swan repeated. And she closed her eyes.

Killian felt the magical bonds around him shatter like glass, and he fell forwards onto his knees. Giving himself one brief moment to register what had happened—Swan had freed him—he quickly pushed himself up and drew his sword as he bolted back towards the center of the room.

Regina reacted before he could reach her, and he had to duck to avoid the ball of fire she hurled at him. He slipped on the smooth floors a bit, but managed to regain his balance before he could fall flat on his face. Finally, he was right on top of her, and he brought his blade down for the kill.

It was met with another blade; Regina had magically conjured one in her hand. “Nice try, pirate,” she sneered. With her other hand, she plucked something round and red out of the air, and brought it to her lips. “Come here immediately and kill the girl,” she said.

He felt his pulse quicken: it was a heart. She’d just given orders to someone to come here and kill Swan.

He’d just have to kill her before those orders could be carried out.

He pushed her back with a shout; thanks to her heeled shoes, she stumbled a bit as she tried to maintain her balance. In the short moment, he turned to see that Swan was still kneeling, clearly magically held in place, her face screwed up in determination. “You can do it, Swan!” he shouted before turning back to the Queen.

Regina practically snarled at him as she rushed back towards him. He easily parried the blow, and the next one, as he slowly moved towards the other side of the room. He would go back on the offensive when Swan had freed herself, or if there was a chance at striking the killing blow. But meanwhile, he needed to lead her away from Swan.

Regina was a decent swordsman, good enough that he could not constantly glance over to see how Swan was doing. Even with a heart in one hand, the Queen was relentless, and more than once, he had to parry with his hook instead of his sword. Bloody hell, it was good to have his hook back; it had been a long few weeks without it.

“She’s not worth it, pirate,” Regina hissed. “Whatever you were promised for her, she’s just a rat with a bad attitude.”

“You’re wrong,” he spat back.

“Give up now and I’ll give you more than the reward you were promised.”

“I doubt it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t.” She tried to stab him, but he dodged. “Everyone knows that what Captain Hook wants more than anything else: revenge on Rumplestiltskin. And I know more about the Dark One than anyone else, living or dead.”

She probably did; the Dark One had been her teacher, after all. But he was no fool; even if he were willing to sell Swan out, he knew Regina had no plans to assist him or reward him.

“No,” he said, parrying another blow. “Swan’s right. You _are_ pathetic.”

Regina’s expression hardened, and she raised her sword high.

And then—

She froze.

She hadn’t just stopped her attack; she was truly frozen in place, unable to move anything except her eyes, which were frantically darting about. “We might need another word besides ‘pathetic,’” Swan said, standing up and dusting herself off. “It applies, but I feel like we’re overusing it.”

“Swan.” His knees felt weak with relief. She smiled at him; it was just a small smile, but with the events of the past several minutes, it felt momentous. She opened her mouth to reply.

Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by the door to the throne room opening. An older man barged in, sword drawn; he charged towards Swan with it. “Shit!” Swan said, ducking out of the way.

He rushed towards the man; adrenaline was still pumping through his veins from his duel with Regina. But every time he tried to meet the man’s blade with his own, it was as though he only had eyes for Swan, battling Killian almost as an afterthought as he tried to make his way towards her.

“The heart!” Killian shouted, recalling Regina’s orders. “She told him to kill you!”

“Oh, crap, right!” Swan rushed to Regina’s immobile form and snatched the heart from her hand. “Stop!” she shouted into it.

Sure enough, the man did so immediately, causing Killian to sway for a moment mid-parry. “Thanks, love,” he panted.

“What the hell do I do with this?” she asked.

“Give it back to him.”

“What if he kills us?”

“You’ve got magic.”

“Oh. Right.” She glanced back at Regina, still completely frozen, before stepping up to the unknown man and unceremoniously shoving his heart back into his chest.

The man sucked in a breath as though he’d been suffocating and stumbled backwards. “Thank you,” he said, breathing heavily. “I—I can’t thank you enough.”

“Just don’t kill us,” Swan said wryly.

“Of course not,” the man said with horror.

“Well … good.” She sighed. “What do we do now?”

“I suppose we can’t just leave her there,” Killian admitted. “She might free herself.”

“Execute her,” the man suggested. “She’s a tyrant and a murderer. She doesn’t deserve to live.”

Swan blanched at the suggestion. “Really? So, like, you want me to just walk up and stab her while she’s helpless?”

“I’m happy to do it if you find it distasteful,” Killian offered.

“Seriously?”

“Swan, she was about to execute _you_ while _you_ were helpless.”

“So?” Swan asked angrily. “We just agreed that she’s pathetic. I don’t want to stoop to her level. I’m _better_ than she is.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“What? Yes, you are!”

He held up his hook. “You seemed rather appalled over my identity, which means you know my reputation. I assure you, love, it was a reputation that I quite earned, not one made up or exaggerated to strike fear in the hearts of my foes.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was just _surprised,_ okay? Look—I _know_ you. I _know_ you’re better than this, so don’t fucking argue with me just because we don’t know what else to do with her.”

“You have magic,” the other man suggested. “Is there something you could do with that?”

“This has kind of been a fluke,” she admitted. “I found out I had magic maybe ten minutes ago.”

“There’s a reason you were prophesied to defeat Regina,” Killian reminded her. “Your magic is the key to it, even if you’re unused to it.”

She was quiet for a moment. “You were supposed to take me to someone to be _trained.”_ She spat out the last word with disgust.

“The wizard Merlin was going to train you, for you to come back here to defeat her. But all he knew was the prophecy: that you were the Savior, who would defeat Regina using the most powerful light magic in the realm. Your parents asked me to find you and bring you to him; I don’t think any of them expected the confrontation to happen between those two steps.”

Her eyes widened. “My parents?”

He nodded, and his heart pounded as he remembered that night in the inn. “They’ve been looking for you for years. They’ve sent countless people after you. No one could get into Storybrooke.”

“You did,” she whispered.

“It wasn’t easy, even for me. But Swan, they never stopped looking for you.”

She wiped at her face. “Okay, well, I don’t know what to do, okay? I hate her—like, I _really_ hate her, but I don’t feel right killing her. Or letting you do it.”

He sheathed his sword and reached for her hand. “What does your magic feel like?”

She paused and looked at him thoughtfully. “Like I just … _feel_ too much. When you were trapped, I just _felt_ how much I wanted you to be freed. And then I just wanted her to _stop_ and she did.”

He nodded. “So think about how you feel.”

She nodded in turn and dropped his hand. She walked towards Regina, and he immediately grasped the hilt of his sword. What if Regina was feigning her immobility? What if she ran Swan through the moment she stepped within range?

But nothing of the sort happened, and Swan simply put her hand on Regina’s shoulder.

There was a bright flash of light, and Regina’s blade clattered to the floor as she fell to her knees. Swan quickly picked the blade up, holding it to Regina’s throat. “I wouldn’t move,” she warned.

The Queen sneered and held up her hand to summon what Killian assumed would be another fireball. But nothing happened. Regina stared at her hand in disbelief. “No! No, this can’t be happening!”

“I guess it is,” Swan said. “You know, there’s a _great_ cell for you in the dungeon.”

“I’m happy to escort her,” said the unknown man.

“That would be great, thanks.”

The man dragged the Queen out, his task made more difficult by the disempowered monarch who was literally kicking and screaming. The doors slammed behind him.

* * *

Only an hour after their mid-morning confrontation with Regina, he and Swan had been sent off in a luxurious carriage drawn by the fastest horses in the kingdom. The border crossing was made easily, since they were in the Queen’s own carriage, carrying an official notice from her second-in-command with the order to let them through. And it would only be a few more hours before they reached Snow White’s castle from there.

He’d put Swan in the carriage first before climbing in after her, but when he sat across from her, she’d rolled her eyes and pulled him over to sit beside her. They had dozed until the border crossing, but after that, Killian felt wide awake.

After all, his time with Swan was now limited.

“What are they like?” she asked.

“Who?”

“My parents. I barely remember them.”

“Ah. They’re just and fair rulers, though they’re unafraid of getting their hands dirty. Your mother in particular is very reasonable.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Aye.”

“You sound like you know from experience.”

He chuckled. “I convinced her to free me, and she agreed, in exchange for my services. It’s why I was sent to find you.”

“Free you? What happened?”

“I was caught trying to steal from the treasury, and when my identity was determined, I was tried and sentenced to execution.”

“Seriously?”

“I am entirely serious.” He raised an eyebrow. “Does that upset you?”

“I mean, I guess not. I was sentenced to execution this morning, so …”

“Ah, but I think we both know my sentence was a fair one, and well-deserved.”

“Killian …”

“Swan, I didn’t hide my identity from you to deceive you; I was trying to lay low so I could succeed and rescue you. But I _am_ Hook; you _know_ my reputation. I can’t change my past, or who I am, not any more than you could stop being who _you_ are.”

She snorted. “And who _am_ I?” she asked bitterly. “I was a princess, then a prisoner, then a street urchin, then a bounty hunter. And now I guess I have to be a princess again.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You’re _Swan._ You’re courageous and determined, and just as honorable as your parents. Running a kingdom might be different than smoking out a runaway drug addict, but whichever job you do, you’ll still be _you.”_

“Then _you_ were still _you,”_ she said, poking at his chest. “And I’m pretty sure I just spent the past few days with a pretty honorable, decent guy. So none of this bullshit about deserving to be executed, okay?”

“Very well,” he said, accepting defeat.

“Good.” She sighed.

“What is it?”

“Regina called me by my real name today,” she said. “You did, too.”

He furrowed his brow. “Do you not wish to be called that? Or would you prefer it?”

She shook her head. “It’s just weird, that’s all. After I escaped the dungeon, I started going by Swan. No one’s called me Emma in almost twenty years.”

“I will address you however you’d prefer me to.”

“Because I’m a princess and you have to do what I tell you to?” she asked unhappily.

“Because you should be addressed how you wish, plain and simple. Besides, I’m a pirate, love; I answer to no monarch.”

She chuckled. “And do you want me to still call you Killian?”

“What else would you call me?”

“Hook?”

“Ah, yes.” He sighed. “You can address me however you wish.”

“I thought I was supposed to address you however _you_ wanted.”

“Aye, and what _I_ want is for you to call me whatever _you’d_ prefer.”

She smiled, a small little smile. “I want to call you Killian.”

“Then that’s what I want to hear from your lips.”

She reached for his hand and squeezed it.

“I’m so nervous,” she admitted.

“To see your parents?” She nodded. “I can imagine.”

“I just … I thought they’d given up. It means so much to know that they didn’t, but I still feel weird about it.”

“It’s hard to let go of anger, even once amends have been made. Knowing that you weren’t wronged doesn’t erase decades of believing you were.”

“Still.” She sighed. “What if … what if they’re disappointed in me?”

“Why on earth would they be?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I managed to get out of the dungeon, but eighteen years later, I still hadn’t managed to escape Storybrooke. Maybe they’ll think I’m incompetent.”

“Well, that would be extremely unkind of them, considering that not a single soul has managed to escape Storybrooke since Regina sealed the borders over thirty years ago. And that I’m the only person who managed to even cross into the kingdom.”

“I still can’t believe you did it.”

“It took an entire week, quite a lot of lying, and unprecedented amounts of sheer luck.”

“And I bet your escape plan would be, like, twice as hard.”

“I was hoping it would be easier, but considering the fact that I made my mission much more difficult than it needed to be, I’m sure you’re right.”

“How did you make the mission harder?”

“Every piece of information I could find about the lost princess of Misthaven indicated that she was imprisoned in Regina’s dungeons, but I didn’t feel right about it. So I paid a seer an ungodly amount of money, and she told me I would find the princess in a village several days journey from the castle. I searched that village high and low and found nothing, and so I opted to drink away my troubles with what remained of my funds. And who should just _happen_ to sit down next to me?”

“Me,” she whispered.

“You,” he confirmed. “A young woman who fit the description of the missing princess, and who I had in fact found in the village in which the seer said I would find her. And what did I do? Well, I certainly didn’t notice.”

“You probably weren’t expecting the princess to be like _me,”_ she pointed out.

“Fair enough, but still, not a good excuse. And worse, if I’d just _told_ you my mission, we could have gone to the border immediately and made our escape. There would have been no reason to subject you to a return visit to your prison, and Regina never would have had an opportunity to kill you.”

“You were trying to protect me, though. I know I gave you shit over it, but I’m _glad_ you didn’t tell me.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re _glad_ I kept a secret that nearly cost you your life?”

“You’re worried that I won’t like you or trust you because now I know you’re a pirate. Right?”

He frowned. “I suppose.”

“Well, I still do. Because you were doing _everything_ you could to find me and rescue me, and part of that was keeping a secret. You didn’t want to betray my parents or risk ruining the mission. That’s honorable, okay? That matters.”

“I still think this would have been easier had we known and avoided Regina altogether.”

“Well, then maybe you should be pissed at me.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I _didn’t_ need to keep my identity a secret. I could have just told _you_ that I was Emma.”

“That’s true,” he mused. “Did you consider it?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I …”

“Did you not trust me? It’s all right, Swan. I won’t be offended.”

“No, I trusted you. I just … I thought if you saw me as a princess instead of as just _me,_ you’d treat me differently.”

“Why would I treat you differently?”

“Oh, _please,_ Killian. If I weren’t the princess—if I were just Swan—would you have tried to sit _across_ from me when you got in the carriage?”

“I suppose not.”

“See?”

“Well, to be fair, Swan, if you weren’t the princess, then we’d have another person in the carriage with us. And since I’m a gentleman, I would have helped each of you into the carriage first, so you would have sat across from each other, and then I would have been obligated to sit beside one of you. So of _course_ I would have sat next to you, Swan, had you not been the princess.”

“You know, that is the _biggest_ technicality ever.”

“But you can’t disagree, can you?”

“Killian—”

“Swan,” he teased, mimicking her annoyed tone. “As I said before, love, you’re still Swan. The only perception of mine that’s changed since the epiphany regarding your identity is my perception of myself. Because if I were as perceptive as I’d like to believe, your rescue would have been complete without this morning’s ordeal.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“You were almost executed in front of me.”

“Besides that.”

“You didn’t seem to be happy to be back in that dungeon.” He recalled the tremors in her voice.

She let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, that affected me more than I thought, seeing my old cell.” She reached down and pulled the soft toy duck out of her rucksack; Graham had returned it to her once he’d installed Regina in the dungeon. “I’m glad to see this guy again, though.”

“What did the number mean?”

“Which number?”

“In your cell.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. “I had a tally in my old cell. When they moved me, I wrote the original total on the new wall before I started the new tally.”

“Bloody _hell.”_

“Yeah.”

He’d _known,_ of course, but almost in an intellectual way. Princess Emma had been kidnapped at the age of five, and Swan had mentioned escaping at the age of ten. But just the sheer thought of Swan, as a child, carving another tally into the wall each day, was demoralizing. “Seventeen hundred and sixty-five days,” he breathed out.

“Eighteen hundred and forty-two,” she corrected. “The first number was just how long I was in the first one.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“That you didn’t rescue me twenty-three years ago?” She laughed. “How would a five-year-old rescue another five-year-old.” He grimaced. “Uh oh. What?”

“What tales did you hear of me?”

“Just that you were a vicious pirate with a hook for a hand. Lots of murder and torture and shit. Oh, and that you hated the Dark One.” Her eyes narrowed. “Regina offered you information on him, to help you with your revenge.”

He nodded. “Aye. My Milah—she was his wife.”

“Right. Wait. Rumplestiltskin’s wife is named _Belle.”_

“His _first_ wife.”

“She died, like, hundreds of years ago.”

“She did.”

“Your youth,” she said, in disbelief. “Regina mentioned that, too.”

“I went to Neverland, so that I could live long enough to have my vengeance. So yes, Swan, I would have been entirely capable of rescuing you when you were still a child since I was already the age I am now when you were born.”

They sat in silence after that. There was a strange, heavy feeling in his chest that took him several minutes to determine was disappointment. She’d been able to see past his piracy, and to forgive his failure to rescue her more neatly, but his age was an insurmountable obstacle.

Not that it mattered, he supposed. She would return to her parents and reacclimate to the life she had been stolen from. It would be easier for them both if she found his age to be impossible to accept.

The carriage came to a halt. They had arrived.

* * *

Killian rarely slept past dawn, but the light coming through the windows of his cabin was much too bright for the sun to have only just risen. He knew why he had slept so late; it had been well past midnight when he’d fallen into a fitful sleep. It was going to take some time for him to readjust to sleeping without Swan in his arms.

It hadn’t helped that the previous evening had been so intensely awkward. Swan and her parents had been overjoyed to be reunited, and his presence at their reunion had felt intrusive. It didn’t help that Swan was essentially ignoring him, speaking directly to him only when it seemed required, and mentioning him as little as possible. She even referred to him as _Hook,_ although it was seemed that she was doing so for the sake of her parents, who might not be amenable to the fact that their relationship had been more than platonic. Queen Snow White and her consort David had been confused at the dynamic, but they seemed more focused on the return of their daughter than they were on the way in which she interacted with her would-be rescuer.

He didn’t feel as though he’d truly rescued her. All he’d done was tell her she had magic and would defeat Regina with it; she’d done everything else on her own.

He’d been offered a bed in the palace, since it was rather late and there was no way he’d be able to set sail until morning anyway. But it had been too long since he’d been aboard the _Jolly Roger,_ and if he couldn’t sleep in the same bed as Swan anymore, he might as well fall asleep aboard the other love of his life.

And yet his bunk had never felt so hard and cold. It was a miracle he’d managed to sleep at all.

He felt more comfortable now, but he was still groggy from his restless night. In such a state, it was easy to pretend that Swan was with him. He could practically smell her hair, feel the warmth of her body, and enjoy the touch of her fingers as she gently caressed his hair.

And hear her voice as she said, “I know you’re awake.”

He opened his eyes to find Swan, very much not a figment of his imagination, smirking at him as she lay next to him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted sheepishly. “I snuck out around midnight and saw you hadn’t left yet.”

“No crew,” he said, yawning. “Which, by the way, is the only reason you were able to sneak onboard undetected. Won’t your parents be concerned regarding your whereabouts?”

“Nah, I left them a note. But you shouldn’t have slept here alone. I mean, I came on board hours ago and you didn’t even notice. Isn’t that dangerous? To be here alone?”

“I obviously knew, even in my sleep, that you were no threat.”

She threw him a serious look. “Killian, anyone could have come on board and killed you or something.”

“I would have been fine. I had you here to protect me.”

_“Killian.”_

“I’ve lived a long life, Swan. And at least, now I can die knowing I’ve helped to rescue a beautiful princess.”

“Come on, don’t joke about this.”

He sat up, propping himself up on his elbows. “Swan, what’s wrong? You can’t truly be this upset that I was alone here last night.”

“You would have left,” she said.

“I can sail the _Jolly Roger_ alone, but I prefer not to,” he explained. “So I can’t leave until I’ve assembled whatever’s left of my crew.”

“But you _would_ have left,” she said again. “You’re planning on leaving.”

He frowned. “Swan, what exactly is going on?”

“I thought …” She stopped and took a deep breath. “You know what? Never mind. Have a good life, Hook.”

Hearing his moniker fall from her lips this time was alarming, given that it couldn’t just be for show. “Swan, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” she snapped, hopping down from his bunk. “Nothing’s wrong! I’m finally free, and I’m home, and everything’s fine!”

He immediately followed her, managing to block the door before she could leave. “What have I done?” he asked. “I’ve upset you. What have I done?”

“I thought you cared about me, okay? I thought we had _something._ But I was wrong, obviously, because you’re leaving!”

He could only gape at her. “But—last night,” he managed to say.

“What _about_ last night?”

“You barely looked at me, Swan. You hardly acknowledged me once we stepped out of that carriage. Your parents seemed happier to be in my company than you did. I understand you were overwhelmed with reuniting with your family, but—forgive me, I was sure you were through with me.”

She stared at him before turning bright red; her shoulders slumped. “Oh. Yeah. I guess I was a little … well, it was just …”

He might as well address the heart of the matter. “I know my age is unnerving. It’s hard to explain how it feels to stop ageing—not that I’ve stopped altogether, of course, just while I was in Neverland. But perhaps it’s easier to imagine that I was frozen in time?” He sighed. “I’m sorry, as I said, I can imagine how disturbing you must find it, and I won’t try to sway you.”

“You think this is about your age?”

“Is that not what it’s about?” He blinked in confusion. “But once we’d discussed it—”

“Once we’d discussed Rumplestiltskin,” she corrected. “And Milah. I’d forgotten that story you’d told me about how she’d died. It was just … knowing that the whole reason you’re still alive hundreds of years later was so you could avenge her death …”

He reached up and cupped her cheek; she tilted her head into it and sighed. “So why are you here?” he asked. “If you were through with me then, why are you here now?”

She closed her eyes. “After you left, I stayed up late, talking with my parents, and they were really concerned with how you’d treated me, since you’re a pirate and all. Anyway, I made some kind of joke about how you were really motivated by the fact that your reward was not being executed, and my mom was really confused.” She opened her eyes and his heart beat faster. “Because your reward was actually information that would help you kill the Dark One, and you didn’t take it. You left without it.”

He nodded.

“Why?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “The story I told you, about Milah’s death. The Dark One used his magic to bind me and leave me helpless as I watched him kill the woman I loved. And yesterday, I almost had to live through the same thing again.”

She blushed. “The woman you loved almost died in front of you?” she asked.

“The woman I _still_ love,” he corrected. “Aye.”

“Gee, Killian, I didn’t realize how you felt about Regina.”

His heart was still beating much too quickly, now with relief. But even so—“Oi! That’s no proper way to respond to such a confession. You’re supposed to let me down gently, or make a similar confession, or—”

He was unexpectedly cut off by his lips covering his. She pulled back with a grin. “Does that work.”

“I don’t know. Perhaps you should try it again.”

* * *

In the end, Killian didn’t need to cobble together a crew; Snow White provided him with one whenever he needed to set sail. It was the least she could do, she said, given that it would be demoralizing for the kingdom if the prince consort were to meet his untimely death at sea.

He’d simply responded by bringing up the time she’d ordered his hanging, a reminder which she cheerfully took in stride.

It was strange, when he thought about it. Only months ago, he’d been Captain Hook, one of the terrors of the sea, a man hell-bent on getting his vengeance even if it meant he’d die for it. Now, he was hailed as a hero, married to the Savior and princess of the realm; he spent more time navigating the political landscape than he did the open waters.

And there was much navigating to be done. The man they’d encountered in Regina’s castle, a former huntsman named Graham, had become the ruler of Storybrooke, but the entire kingdom remained in turmoil. With the borders passable again, Misthaven had become flooded with refugees, and Snow White had made the difficult decision to annex Storybrooke.

The move had been met with resistance from the majority of Misthaven’s citizens as well as Regina’s loyalists and many other denizens of Storybrooke; even with Graham’s approval, the merger had been difficult. Swan’s father, David, had suggested Swan marry Graham to solidify the merger, but both his wife and daughter had ignored the proposition.

Killian had not been present at that meeting, and had, in fact, only learned of David’s proposal a few nights after he and Swan had wed. He hadn’t found the story nearly as amusing as Swan had assumed he would, but as she’d reminded him immediately, there had only been _one_ man she’d wanted to marry.

“A three-hundred-year-old one-handed pirate,” he’d said.

“Yep,” she’d agreed. “No better man for me. No one else I’d want to wake up next to every morning, fall asleep next to every night, and spend every moment with in between.”

“I believe that’s already been arranged, my love.”

“Good. Now, let’s go to bed.”

And like every night that he had Swan in his arms, he’d fallen asleep with ease.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the story and I'd love to hear what you think!


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